


Dreaming of a Happy Ending

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Gen, Homophobia, Pre-Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, canonical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 20:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: A journey through Blaine's life from age four through episode 2x07 ("The Substitute").  A story about weddings, being gay, and happily ever after.





	Dreaming of a Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> I am determined to dust off my WIPs or shelve them for good, and so here we are.
> 
> Back when season three was airing, I wrote a fic about Kurt called “Being Kurt Hummel,” which was a look at Kurt’s life through his view of himself and his sexuality. I was (very kindly) asked by a few readers to write a parallel fic about Blaine. This... is not that fic, but that was my starting point for contemplating a big internal Blaine story, so it’s as close as I’m going to get.
> 
> During season four, especially by the end of the season, I got to thinking a lot about Blaine and marriage, about why he’d want to propose to Kurt when they weren’t even dating again, about what relationships and marriage mean to him, and a whole bunch about Blaine and belonging and his penchant for big, showy, sometimes inappropriate events like serenades in the Gap and proposals out of the blue.
> 
> This isn’t that fic, either, but it’s what came of all of my pondering of Mr. Blaine Anderson and his need for love and support for gay marriage. It’s been 95% written since the summer after season four, and in my navel-gazing frustration about it not magically turning into the other two fics I’ve been sitting on it. For years.
> 
> But no longer!
> 
> My thanks to Stoney and Liz, who read bits of this fic along the way, and to all of you lovely readers who have been supportive of me dreaming up my own happy endings for these boys.

When Blaine is four years old, he attends the wedding of a distant cousin.

He doesn’t really know anyone there besides his parents and Cooper, and there aren’t many other kids scattered through the church. Before the drawn-out service begins, his mother warns him to keep away from the books in the back of the pew, even though he can see they’re thick enough to have lots of good pictures in them, and after things start she refuses to let him sit on her lap to get a better view of what’s going on in front of the altar. To keep his mother from shushing him or his father glaring at him, he has to make himself sit quietly in the hard wooden pew, clasp his hands together to keep from fidgeting, and stare at the back of some relative’s neck. It’s a long and boring afternoon.

There is one thing about the day that is wonderful, though, even more than his nice new suit with an actual tie that ties and makes him feel a whole big four feet tall: how the groom looks at the bride as they exchange their wedding rings.

Leaning over just enough that he can see between people’s heads but not get in trouble with his mother, Blaine stares at the groom. He has never in his life seen a smile like that, so open and joyful, so radiantly happy, so at peace, so sure, so _thrilled_. The groom looks like he’s had his greatest wish granted when he slides the ring onto Blaine’s cousin’s finger.

Something in Blaine twists and stills when he sees it. Something in him stops. Something in him centers.

He wants that.

He wants that smile, that feeling for himself.

He thinks about it all night as he watches the bride and groom, their eyes only on each other and their laughter flowing over the room when they’re feeding each other cake, or holding hands at the head table, or even when the groom accidentally steps on his wife’s train as he spins her around the dance floor. They’re totally wrapped up in each other, totally happy, totally and perfectly in love.

It’s like a movie, but it’s _real_. It’s happening right in front of his eyes.

When his mother asks him at bedtime whether he enjoyed himself, he’s thinking of their radiant smiles when he says yes, not of the fun of finding heaping buffet tables at the reception and seemingly endless dance partners among all of the women in the room (at least all of them apart from the few Cooper is charming at any given moment). He gets ready for bed on his little cot in the hotel room he’s sharing with Cooper and relives that glorious smile of the groom getting what he wanted the most in the world.

Someday, when he’s old enough, he wants someone to look at him just that way. He wants someone who wants him like that.

He knows it won’t be soon. He’s just four, and people don’t get married until they’re _old_.

But someday, someone is going to see him and smile like that, not tell him what to do, not tell him to wait his turn or sit still, not smile at Cooper first, but smile at _him_. Pick him. Want _him_ more than anything or anyone else in the world.

Blaine curls up under his scratchy hotel blanket and imagines how good that would feel. He imagines what that kind of love would mean. It would be like everything his mother gives him, only better, because he wouldn’t have to share with his father and Cooper. It would just be his.

And he’ll get to wear a really, really nice suit. And a bow tie. And eat cake. And dance all night long.

Blaine smiles and pulls his teddy bear a little closer under the covers.

He can’t wait to get married.

*

“I’ve decided we’re getting married,” Candace McClane tells Blaine one day when he’s in first grade. They’re swinging next to each other at recess, and no matter how hard he pumps his legs he can’t quite get as high as she can. She’s amazing. He can’t believe she wants him for a husband.

“Okay,” Blaine says. He watches her long, blonde hair flow behind her as she rises up into the air. It’s really pretty, tied with a bright red ribbon that streams down almost to the end of her ponytail.

“You should make me a ring in the art corner during choice time today, and we can get married tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. She’s new to the school this year, and they’ve only known each other a few weeks. Maybe they should wait until Tuesday or even Wednesday.

She flies up into the air again, her body outlined against the bright blue sky. “We’re the perfect couple,” she replies. “We both like the swings, and we’re in the same reading group. And we were the last two standing at dodgeball today. You live close enough to walk to my house. The only problem is that I’m taller, but you’ll grow.”

Blaine nods. He can’t really argue with her logic. They are kind of perfect for each other. And he really likes her older brother, Pierce, too, so they’ll make a good family. “Okay.”

“We’ll still sit at different tables at lunch, but I’ll change my name to Anderson, and you can walk home with me if you want to,” Candace says. On the next swing upwards, she launches herself off of the swing and lands gracefully on the grass beyond. She smiles at him over her shoulder. “Wear something nice!”

Blaine makes her a ring out of a red pipe cleaner with a big sparkly pink bead on it, and the next day he wears his favorite sweater vest and bow tie, no matter that he gets pushed around a little on the bus for it. He even picks a flower from his mother’s garden for his fiancée to hold during the ceremony.

Candace isn’t at school, though; she’s out sick for the next two days. Blaine makes her get well cards, which he carefully tucks in his locker so they won’t get crumpled, and gets in trouble with his mother for trying to figure out how to use the cooktop to heat up some soup to take to her house. That’s what you do for friends, after all. That’s what you do for someone you love, and he must love her, because they’re getting married.

When Candace comes back after the weekend, however, she walks right past him in the classroom and goes to color with Amelia Chatterjee. She and Amelia play together at recess, four square instead of the swings. They sit together at lunch. They walk home together after school.

She doesn’t talk to Blaine at all.

Blaine’s confused, but he knows it’s not polite to push. He keeps the ring in his backpack for a week, just in case, but she never brings up marriage again.

It’s okay, he decides after a while. He really does like her brother better.

*

_Blaine Anderson-McClane_ , Blaine thinks to himself a few weeks later, his chin on his hand and his elbow resting on the kitchen table beside his forgotten bowl of cereal. _Blaine McClane-Anderson. Pierce Anderson-McClane. Pierce Anderson._ A little thrill goes through him at that last one. They could be the _Andersons_ , maybe, just like his parents are. Mr. and Mr. Anderson. Blaine and Pierce Anderson.

After all, when you’re best friends with someone and want to spend every minute together, when you like the same books and the same flavor of fruit roll-ups and the same games in gym, obviously you marry him. No wonder it wasn’t meant to be with Candace; he was meant to marry _Pierce_.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks, his mind still full of the boy who sat next to him at lunch and laughed at all of his jokes the day before.

His father looks up from the paper. “Hmm?”

“What happens to their names when two boys marry?”

“Two boys can’t get married,” his father says. His eyes drop back to his reading. “Only a boy and a girl.”

“Oh,” Blaine says. His heart falls. “Okay.” He guesses it makes sense. He’s never seen two men live together, after all, except for Joey and Chandler on _Friends_ , but they aren’t married.

He sighs and stares at the tablecloth for a little while. Boys can’t get married. They can’t be the Andersons after all.

He and Pierce will just have to be best friends for the rest of their lives, he guesses. Really awesome best friends who do everything together. That’s good, too.

But, he thinks a little sadly, not _as_ good. You don’t get to have a sleepover every night with your best friend. You don’t get to do _everything_ together.

Well, except for Joey and Chandler. They did all that.

Smiling to himself, Blaine rolls his chin thoughtfully on his palm and wonders how Pierce would feel about getting a pet duck and chick.

*

The door to the garage slams behind Blaine’s father, and a minute later there is the sound of his car’s engine revving somewhat more loudly than normal as he accelerates down the driveway and out into the street.

Blaine creeps out from the family room into the kitchen to find his mother sitting pale-faced and firm-jawed at the kitchen table. She looks calm but very angry, much angrier than she’s ever looked at him, even the time he accidentally danced into the big potted ficus and knocked it over, spilling dirt everywhere all over the pale carpet.

“Mom?” he says softly.

Her head turns toward him, and she very clearly attempts a smile. She reaches out a hand for him. “Everything’s fine, Blainey,” she says as he steps closer. “Don’t be worried.”

Blaine takes her hand, wraps his fingers around hers with the big, cold diamond of her engagement ring nestled against his palm. “You’re upset.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes grown-ups fight. It wasn’t about you.”

“It was about Cooper,” Blaine says, because he heard it all from the other room.

“Honey, it’s nothing to do with you,” she says and pats his hand.

Blaine nods. “ _I_ want to go to college,” he assures her. He’s been thinking about it with all of the discussions of applications and career paths going on in the house. He’s decided to go to the University of Lima so he doesn’t have to leave home and his room and his mom, and he wants to become an astronaut/musician. He’ll probably have to double major for that.

“That’s good, Blainey,” she says with a smile that eases something in Blaine’s heart, because he’s made the right choice. He knows how important education is for both of his parents. “But you’ve got plenty of time before you have to think about that.”

Blaine nods and leans against her leg, still holding her hand. He straightens the ring on her finger, making sure the diamond is right in the center. He loves her ring. He loves how it flashes and sparkles in the light. He loves how it looks on her finger, like it’s meant to be there. Sometimes when she’s washing dishes or polishing silver for Thanksgiving she takes it off, and her hand always looks so bare without it.

“Are you and dad getting divorced?” he asks her, even saying the words making his stomach twist with concern. Andy Beeman’s parents are getting divorced, and he and his mother had to move into an apartment and had to get rid of their dog. Not that Blaine has a dog, at least not yet, but he really doesn’t want to have to move.

“What? No.” She turns him around by his shoulders so that he’s facing her. “We aren’t getting divorced. Of course not.”

“You’ve been fighting a lot,” Blaine says to her necklace. Andy Beeman’s parents had fought all the time. “About Cooper and his acting career and - “

“We aren’t getting divorced.” His mother’s words are firm, and she pulls him in for a hug, surrounding him with her arms and her flowery perfume. “People fight, Blainey. Sometimes being a grown-up is hard. You’ll learn that someday. But Andersons marry for good. Your father is mad, and so am I, and we probably will be for a while until this is all settled with Cooper, but we aren’t getting divorced. Don’t worry about that.”

“But - “ Blaine begins, his voice wavering a little with the tears he can feel readying themselves to spring into his eyes, because there was _yelling_ , and his mother _never_ yells, and -

“Andersons marry for good,” she tells him again.

Blaine can see the determination in her face, her utter sureness, and the wiggly worms of worry inside of him settle down some. He trusts her. He believes her. If she says Andersons marry for good, then it must be true.

“Okay,” he says, taking a breath.

It’s good to know, really. It’s good to be sure. It’s good to be able to count on his parents being there forever. He won’t have to move out and share a room with Cooper and give up the dog he really, really wants for his next birthday. He’s going to name it Aladdin after his favorite movie character.

“Your father and I aren’t always going to agree, Blainey,” his mother says, rubbing his shoulders. “But at the end of the day, we’re partners. We might be fighting, but we’re on the same side. We’ll work it out. That’s just what marriage is.”

Blaine nods and feels those worms in his stomach quiet even more. He doesn’t like it when his mother gets mad at him or his father is disappointed. It makes him feel sad when Cooper tells him he isn’t trying hard enough in their dance routine or is too slow when they’re at the mall even if he’d told Blaine two minutes before to walk ten feet behind him so he wasn’t in the way when girls wanted to come over. It always makes him feel unsettled for people to be upset with him, like there’s an earthquake shaking the ground beneath his feet.

It must be nice to have someone you know will work things out with you in the end, he thinks, someone who is always on your side no matter what, even if you’re arguing, even if you make a mistake.

It must be nice to know that one person loves you that much, more than anything else.

He can’t wait to have that someday.

“Okay,” he says. “Can I go back to _Power Rangers_ now before Cooper comes home and makes us watch more _Facts of Life_?” Cooper’s been watching the complete works of John Stamos for his so-called ‘acting research’; Blaine wonders if he’ll show up after George Clooney leaves, because there’s been no sign of him yet, and they’re almost finished.

“Of course, sweetheart,” his mother tells him and gives him a kiss on top of his head. “I’ve got to make dinner, anyway.”

“Cannelloni?” he asks hopefully, because those are his favorite, and she’s been promising him to make them again forever.

“Stir-fry,” she replies. That’s _Cooper’s_ favorite, and Blaine’s father hates it. Blaine’s pretty sure she’s taking sides through dinner.

“Okay,” Blaine says again, his shoulders falling, and he goes back to his television while the house is still calm.

Later, while he’s picking at the last of his dinner, he watches his father finally offer his mother a small smile across the table while Cooper’s going on and on about his great Hollywood plans. She returns it, her posture relaxing just a hair.

That last bit of worry inside of Blaine disappears.

It might not always be easy, but Andersons marry for good.

*

The broadcast of the Summer Olympics in Beijing turns out to be a pivotal week for Blaine.

His mother loves the Olympics. She talks about them for months beforehand, watching who is selected for each team, and when the viewing schedule comes out in TV Guide she makes note of what she most wants to watch.

Blaine’s father is far more into football and basketball and loudly eschews the whole thing, so Blaine ends up watching the coverage each night with his mother, just the two of them on the couch.

“Look at all of these athletes at the tops of their games from all over the world,” she sighs happily to Blaine as they watch the opening ceremony together.

Blaine had been more impressed by the choreography than he is by the parade of athletes walking in, but he can certainly appreciate the drive for excellence. “They look very happy to be there,” he says, because they’re all smiling and waving as they march, taking pictures of themselves and the stadium, and they definitely look like they’re having a party in their slightly odd matching costumes.

“Of course they are, honey,” his mother says. “They’re the best, competing with the best, everyone there to win and also to come together in peace and celebration. It’s beautiful, the rivalries and the friendships. That people who want to best each other can find such a spirit of harmony...”

“That _is_ nice,” Blaine agrees with a slow nod. He can see that. It’s not like Buckeyes and Wolverines fans ever have a combined tailgate party, at least not without it regressing into name-calling (or worse). But for these amazing competitors at the Olympics, they can fight hard for medals and still enjoy everyone being there. That’s pretty special.

That’s something worth striving for. That’s something worth watching.

He slides closer to his mother and asks with a smile, “So what time does the coverage start tomorrow night?”

But as much as he likes the spirit of the games, that’s not the watershed moment for him. That’s not what’s life-changing.

It’s the divers.

Blaine is utterly entranced by the male divers.

It’s the way their bodies are so visible in their tiny swimsuits, every bit of the impressive musculature of the incredible human machines that they are visible to the eye. It’s their broad shoulders and powerful thighs. Their firm, flat, defined stomachs. The way their asses flex beneath the tight material covering them, the way their arms sweep up and out in masterful arcs, the way their legs snap together in perfect precision. The way their bodies move with such fluid, certain grace.

It’s the bulges their outfits show off so well, the only parts of them hidden, like a mystery his own body is starting to unravel as it begins to grow into adulthood...

Blaine knows he’s supposed to be feeling this way about the women when it’s their turn on the platforms, but he isn’t. They’re pretty and strong and just as amazing with what they can do with their bodies, but watching the _men_ makes his blood heat in a way that’s new and a little scary if he thinks about it.

It’s the men who are _beautiful_.

It’s the men who are appealing.

It’s the men whose bodies his eyes can’t stop taking in from head to toe, every gorgeous inch of them.

He shifts a little on the couch, curling around himself, and barely dares to breathe as the next diver walks down the platform, tall and lean and strong and so, so bare.

He knows he’s not supposed to want to look. He knows he’s supposed to find the male athletes interesting at best, something to aspire to, maybe. He knows he’s not supposed to be transfixed by the way the water streams off of them as they pull themselves out of the pool at the end of a dive, at the way their bodies flex and strain as they leap, at the sheer size of them, taller and bigger and wider than he is and so incredible for it.

Blaine knows this means something other people are going to think is bad. He _knows_ it is. He knows he should stop before someone notices.

But he can’t look away, and at night in his bed it’s not visions of his favorite singers who dance behind his eyes but those amazing athletes and everything they can do with their bodies.

He doesn’t tell his mother why he’s glued to the television with her through the Olympics; he lets her think it’s because he loves sports, because he loves her and doesn’t want her to have to watch alone. But it’s not. It’s not.

Night after night, he sits by her, stiff and uncomfortable and too aware of his own body, and drinks in the incredible sight of the male divers and the male swimmers and the male gymnasts and more.

He knows he should be ashamed, but he can’t stop himself from looking.

No, Blaine _doesn’t_ stop himself. He chooses not to stop. He doesn’t want to, because just because his heart is pounding in a way that’s exciting and uncomfortable and he is coming to suspect maybe not as new as he would like it to be, it feels so natural for him that - no matter what other people might think - he doesn’t know how it could be _wrong_ at all.

So he looks, and he admires, and if he doesn’t quite understand what’s pulling at him he doesn’t want to lie to himself and pretend it isn’t.

He thinks about them for weeks after the Olympics, for months, dreaming during the day of long legs and strong backs. He starts to dream at night, too, confusing, heated, strange dreams that make his body ache long after he wakes.

It takes him a while to catch on to what they mean. He’s always had strange and vivid dreams, and he’s always liked boys.

He just hadn’t realized that he _likes_ boys.

Blaine sits at lunch and watches his friends laugh over their meals, watches Doug’s steady face as he throws a grape at Chip when the lunchroom monitor isn’t watching, feels the soaring, giddy flip of his heart when Jason laughs at one of his jokes, and thinks _oh_.

He thinks, _I’m different_.

It rocks him for a minute, realizing that even though he and his friends all like to be together, he has a whole other layer of feelings on top of it.

He thinks about how his friends are starting to feel about girls, as someone to hold hands with, to kiss, to marry when they’re older, and thinks _maybe_... until he thinks about doing that with a boy and thinks _yes, please_.

Oh.

Blaine stares down at his pudding and tells himself to breathe.

He doesn’t know how he feels about it, but as Jason nudges his elbow against Blaine’s he knows he needs to figure it out.

*

Blaine’s hands are shaking as he puts them on the keyboard, and he pulls them back into his lap and breathes. In and out, in and out. He can do this. He can absolutely do this.

The conversation with his parents had gone better than he’d expected, really. His dad hadn’t yelled. His mom hadn’t cried. They’d just listened to his announcement, his father had nodded in disappointed acceptance like Blaine had told him he’d gotten a B on a quiz in History, his mother had asked if he was sure, and then they’d gone on with their dinner.

He is gay. He is out. It is official.

A part of him wants to get on his bed and jump for joy at the utter freedom he feels in his heart, in the lightness, in the knowledge that this part of him isn’t something that only dwells in the secret places of his heart, but his hands are still shaking. This is big. This is huge. This is going to change his entire life and how people see him. It’s probably going to make some things harder for him, even though it shouldn’t because it’s just honest. It’s right.

The rest of him wants to curl under the covers, because he’s really _gay_ , and as honest as he wants to be about it, knowing that he’s different and that people are going to hate him for who he is is an awful thought. He’s heard the slurs in the locker room and on the bus. He knows people think it’s wrong, but he _is_ gay, and he knows how he feels can’t be wrong. He’s just going to have to work harder than ever to prove to them that it shouldn’t change how they feel about him.

But first he needs to educate himself, because he knows his parents won’t be able to tell him how to be an adult gay man out in the world. He has to figure it out for himself.

And if he’s doing this, if he _is_ this, then he’s going to do it right. He’s going to be a leader, a role model. He’s going to be the kindest, smartest, most open gay man in town and show people there’s no reason to hate anyone for their sexual orientation.

He starts with educating himself on the issues gay people face, because he knows it’s more than just bullying and slurs like he sees in school. If he’s going to combat homophobia, he needs to know what he’s up against. Then he’ll move onto safe sex practices, because although he doesn’t have a boyfriend yet it’s better for him to know ahead of time and it’s not like his Health class is going to cover it; they barely cover heterosexual sex.

Blaine nods to himself and takes a deep breath. It’s the right plan. It’s the mature thing to do.

He doesn’t get to reading about safe sex that night, though, because starting reading about the gay rights movement on Wikipedia brings him right up against decades and decades of discrimination, hate crimes, and legal battles just to be equal citizens. He reads about constitutional amendments, protest marches, and murders. He plows through, trying to absorb the triumphs and see the big arc of more rights and more acceptance, but it’s so clear there’s so much more work left to do.

It’s okay, he tells himself as he shuts off his computer and crawls into bed hours later. It’s okay that there’s more to go, because there are people like him who are happy to help do it. And they will do it. They’re getting so close, if he looks at where they started.

But still, something deep in his heart aches and aches and aches as he pulls the covers up over his shoulders. Even if things are changing, he can’t get married, not if he wants to live in Ohio or New York or California or the vast majority of the country.

Blaine presses his face against his pillow and _aches_ , silent tears dripping down his nose.

He can’t get _married_.

He draws in a shuddering gasp and clutches at the pillow.

He can’t get married. He _can’t_. He’s gay, so he’s not allowed, not to anyone he would love.

It makes him feel cold and isolated, because his feelings aren’t important to the world.

It makes him feel sad, because he can never pledge himself to someone that way, not and have it be recognized by the whole country.

It makes him feel alone, because he can never have the official promise that someone will be at his side, day in and day out, morning and night, year after year, loving him and being loved forever.

It makes him feel really, really _angry_ , because he knows deep in his heart that love is _amazing_ and everyone should have it. Everyone should be able to celebrate it.

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut, his throat burning, his stomach clenched tight, and tells himself that the country is changing and that being honest and open will help get them there faster. He can do his part. He can help.

But god, he knew he’d probably lose his father’s respect and some of his friends when he came out... but he didn’t think he’d have to lose that dream of his future, too, to have a partner beside him, a ring on his finger, and forever.

He wants all of that: the partner, the ring, the forever.

He doesn’t know why being true to himself should make him have _less_.

*

Sex is much less complicated to research than civil rights, at least once he finds sites where he doesn’t have to use his parents’ credit card or swamp his computer with viruses. (He finds a certain irony that his computer can get diseases if he browses unsafely the same way he could if he has sex unsafely. He thinks maybe there’s a lesson in there.)

He does his homework about safe sex, about STDs and lubricants and toys, and it is all so sterile and frightening (and, okay, still titillating). It’s good knowledge to have. He tries to internalize it all without taking notes, because he can’t imagine what would happen if his parents came across a notebook filled with information about lube, about condoms, about stretching and piercings and common positions. No, he just will have to remember it, and he’s so riveted to the screen that he’s pretty sure he can.

But even if he thinks he understands how everything should work, he realizes that he kind of wants to see what it all looks like in action.

So one night when his parents are out of the house, he gets a glass of water, turns down his lights, opens his laptop, and goes looking.

Porn is, well, _hot_. It’s hot guys doing hot things to each other, and Blaine is both overwhelmed and really, really excited by it. He knows his body isn’t as mature as theirs yet and isn’t ready to be doing everything he sees, but he still loves looking at it. It still turns him on to see the men, just to _see_ them standing there with their shirts off before they get started, and then when they start kissing and touching and licking and fucking, he can barely get his hand down his pajama pants before he’s coming in sticky spurts all over himself.

He breathes for a minute, his head spinning and his body throbbing, then cleans off his hand and starts up another video.

It takes a few weeks before the raw novelty of porn wears off, when Blaine finally stops getting hard just walking into his room and seeing his computer, when he stops having to work not to come in the first minute or two of touching himself when a video is playing.

It’s not that he is over it. It’s still incredibly hot to look at these men pleasuring themselves and each other, to watch their bodies working together, to hear them grunting and swearing as they get closer to coming. He still can’t look away from their hands on each other, from their long, hard dicks, from their tongues and fingers and mouths all over each other.

It certainly erases any lingering hopes that he might not actually be attracted to men.

But after those few weeks, Blaine starts feeling a little empty when he’s watching. He’s not turned off, but he’s missing something with these perfect, posed porn stars. They look like they’re having fun, but they aren’t all that connected to each other. They are performing, not caught up in it. He can tell. He gets off on it, but he can tell. As hot as it is, it’s just not everything Blaine wants.

He pokes around the internet, looking at different sites without much hope, because even if the guys are different the things they do are pretty much the same... unless they aren’t, wow, and there are a few disturbing visuals he really wishes he could make himself forget. He doesn’t know if he’ll _ever_ be ready for some of those things.

And then Blaine finds amateur porn.

It’s like the holy grail of fucking. It’s everything he could have wanted in video form. Men smiling at each other, laughing, kissing, touching, being sweet and careful and desperate and fast but _knowing_ each other. Caring. Blaine can see it in their eyes, in their hands, in the knowing ways they work their hips like they’ve done it a hundred times before and know exactly what their partner likes.

Their moans sound more real, their kisses look more fervent, and their orgasms include eye contact and gratitude and joy in each other.

God, it’s _everything_ Blaine wants. It’s everything Blaine thinks sex should be. It’s hot. It’s passionate. It’s _connected_. It’s love. It’s people in love making love, making each other’s bodies feel good. That’s exactly what sex should be.

It’s everything he wants it to be, and if he can’t have it yet, if he’s too young and not in love and not ready, at least he can watch. At least he knows he can have it later on.

He watches a man throw back his head, laughing and groaning at the same time as his partner goes down on him with a knowing grin, and squirms under his covers, reaching for his bottle of lotion.

Yeah, he thinks, sex is going to be amazing.

*

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” Cooper tells Blaine on Christmas afternoon, sitting down beside him on the couch with a beer in his hand after all of the presents are unwrapped and before it’s time for dinner.

Blaine looks up from the remote controlled model military helicopter he’s trying to learn how to fly. It’s pretty tricky. A part of him wonders if it’s his dad’s way to try to convince him to abide by Don’t Ask Don’t Tell within their house. “Do you want a turn?” he offers, holding out the controller.

“No,” Cooper says, “I mean about being gay.”

“Um?” Blaine says politely, because it’s the kind of non-sequitur he expects from Cooper, but it still makes no sense.

“No, really, squirt,” Cooper says, slinging his arm across the back of the couch. “You are so lucky. I should have decided to be gay when I was your age.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” Blaine says and toys with the control stick with his thumb.

“Yeah,” Cooper says with a sigh. “I know. Besides, I’d probably scare men away, because they’d be too overwhelmed by my looks to be willing to be undressed next to me. That would make it really hard to date.”

“Um,” Blaine says again. Isn’t physical attractiveness a positive thing when you’re trying to date? And it’s not like he doesn’t know Cooper has a nice face, but he’s his _brother_. He definitely doesn’t think about him or judge him in any sexual way. He doesn’t want to have to start now.

“Not that dating women is any easier,” Cooper continues. “I mean, I don’t have any problems reeling them in, let me assure you of that, Blainey. They’re pretty much lining up to go out with me.”

“I don’t really see why,” Blaine mutters. He flicks the on switch and lets the rotors of the helicopter whir to life, but he doesn’t try to lift it off of the ground. The last time he tried it had gone careening into the sideboard, and his mother is going to have a fit if he scratches any of the furniture.

Cooper sighs again and drinks some of his beer. “It’s getting rid of them that’s the problem. I need to be a free man, Blainey. I need to see the world. I can’t stay in one place, with one person. I need to meet lots of people.”

“And sleep with them,” Blaine says under his breath.

“And sleep with them!” Cooper agrees, pointing at Blaine with one of the the fingers holding the beer bottle. “But I don’t need to be tied down. You know, in a non-sexual way, because, believe me, the sexual kind of tying down is not something you should say no to when you’re offered it. Trust me. Say yes. You’ll thank me for it.”

Blaine just stares at him, because he’s barely in high school and doesn’t have a boyfriend and _what_?

“What I mean is that I don’t need to worry that some girl I have a few nights of fun with is going to start looking for me to buy her a ring,” Cooper says. “I have big plans. I’m getting jobs. Parts. I have a lead on a commercial. I can’t be tied down with a wife and kids already.”

“Then don’t propose or get any of them pregnant?” Blaine suggests, letting the helicopter go quiet once more.

Cooper points at him again. “You’d think it was that easy, right? But it isn’t. You forget to use a condom _one time_ or maybe a couple of times because it really does feel a lot better without one and poof, there’s a baby, and there goes my future!”

“Cooper, you have to use condoms every time,” Blaine tells him, sitting forward, shocked at the thought. “That’s just basic safe sex.”

“I know that,” Cooper says airily. “But my point is that if I were gay I wouldn’t have to. Because nobody would be getting pregnant.”

“There are still STDs,” Blaine starts, because he’s read enough that he’s terrified of what he could catch from unprotected sex, and if Cooper isn’t being safe, then -

Cooper waves away his concern. “No, Blainey, you really are lucky being gay. Nobody can get you drunk and drive you to Vegas and lock you up in a two-person prison for life. You don’t have to worry about anything. No marriage, no kids, it’s so much easier for you than it is for me. I’m a catch, and women know it. It’s a real risk.” He shakes his head, looking sad.

“When did you last have a serious girlfriend?” Blaine asks after a minute, because he doesn’t remember his mother talking about anyone for a while, and it’s hard to imagine that a one night stand, no matter how desperate, is going to drag Cooper to Las Vegas for a quickie wedding.

“That doesn’t matter,” Cooper says. “It’s about the _threat_. Which is why I’ve given up on traditional dating and prefer to find companions at funerals and drug treatment centers. You know, needy women who will take what little I want to give them and are too wrapped up in their own stuff to ask for more. It’s perfect, really. And safe.”

Blaine just gapes at him, the controller lying forgotten into his lap.

“No,” Cooper says, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re the lucky one.” He leans back a little and squints at him. “Or you will be when you’re tall enough to catch a guy. Are you even shaving yet?”

“Cooper!” Blaine rubs self-consciously over his slightly scratchy chin.

Cooper pats him again. “Never mind. You’ll be happy you’re gay when you’re older.”

“I’m happy now,” Blaine says. He’s still nervous and finding a way to be comfortable in his own skin now that he’s getting looks in the halls at school, but at least he’s being honest. He’s being himself. That makes him happy. He knows it does, even when it makes him nervous, too.

“That’s great, squirt,” Cooper says. He drinks deeply from his bottle of beer. “It’s really going to save you a lot of headaches in the future.”

Blaine thinks he would honestly like the kind of headache where people are so in love with him they want to run off and get married, but he keeps quiet.

Cooper’s never really listened to him, and it’s not like he’s going to start now.

But yeah, Blaine thinks with a sigh, he would like to be able to have that kind of problem.

*

“ - should file a police report, sue their parents - “

“ - has to be safe - “

“ - put their hands on my son, then I don’t care what their excuses are, I want to - “

“ - clear that the school isn’t going to protect him, then what’s the point of him going back there - “

Blaine is tucked in the corner of the couch in the living room, his knees drawn up and his eyes fixed on them, as his parents sit and talk about what comes next.

He doesn’t know what should happen. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his face hurts. His ribs hurt. His knee hurts, his ankle, his heart. Oh, his _heart_. It’s more bruised than anything else. Every time it beats it throbs, reminding him of all he’s learned in the past day.

“ - the school board shouldn’t allow this sort of thing - “

“ - he’s still so young, he can’t be expected to - “

The words wash over him, and Blaine curls his arms around his legs a little tighter and takes a slow, quiet breath in, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy to come out, not in Ohio, not this young, but he hadn’t fully realized how much of a _risk_ it is being himself. He was stupid, probably, he has the bruises to prove it, but he just hadn’t _realized_ that he could be out and proud and smart, hold his head high and be a role model and be perfectly inoffensive and still... this could happen.

Now he knows how when he’s doing the right thing - like working up the nerve to ask a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance because they’re both out and they _should_ be able to go to a dance together - the world can still crash and burn around him thanks to the fists and feet of a few homophobic schoolmates. He didn’t know that. He didn’t know that he could hurt himself by being himself. He didn’t know he could hurt others, even when he’s doing the right thing.

He doesn’t know what else he could have done. He always wants to do the right thing. He always wants to be proud and honest. He just doesn’t want to _feel_ this way, cold and terrified and alone and raw with pain.

He’s not even sure what the right thing is anymore. He just knows that as much as he wants to hide he can’t. He won’t.

But he just might always have to feel this way.

“ - not going to sit by and let my son get beat up at a school dance, no matter what he says he is - “ His father, angry.

“ - not going to sit by and let it happen _again_ , either - “ His mother, fierce and protective.

Blaine tucks his knees up closer to his chest. He hurts. All of him, every inch, inside and out hurts.

“Blaine?” his mother asks softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder that still makes him stiffen at its touch. “Blaine, honey, you should be a part of this conversation.”

He just shakes his head. He knows it matters what happens next, whether he goes to a new school or goes back to the one where he was beat up to face it all over again. He doesn’t want his bullies to win, but he can’t imagine going back there. He can’t imagine having to walk those halls every day, now that he knows what can happen to him if he does. How would it be any different? How would it not happen again?

But is anywhere else any better? Is anywhere else safe?

The only place that feels safe is this spot on the couch, tucked between the arm and the plush back pillow, his toes curled around the welt at the front of the cushion beneath him. He knows he can’t just stay here forever, but for now, for now he can.

“ - Dalton, it has an anti-bullying policy,” his mother is saying. “So if you want to be out - “

“He doesn’t have to,” his father tells her.

Blaine’s throat works, dry and scratchy and sore like he’s been crying even though he’s been trying not to. “I do,” he makes himself say. “I do have to be out.” It’s the only thing he knows for sure. He knows he has to be honest. He knows he refuses to give up and hide who he is when there’s nothing wrong with him. He knows he has to do that much.

Blaine’s mother pets over his shoulder and says, “Okay, honey. Then when you are, you’ll be safe there.”

Blaine nods, though he wants to laugh and cry and curl up closer into the cushions. Safe. He was supposed to be safe by being honest. He was supposed to be safe by having a plan and acting maturely, being a positive example, being ready to fall in love, striding toward his future. He was supposed to be safe by doing the right thing.

He doesn’t know what safe means, not anymore.

*

Dalton is not what Blaine expects. He doesn’t know what to expect, honestly, the first time he knots that unfamiliar tie and slides the stiff blazer on, but it isn’t what Dalton _is_ , which is a really nice place full of really nice guys.

They’re still boys. They still laugh and push in the lunch line. They still make the occasional farting noises in study hall. They still get rough on the field at gym.

But they’re also _nice_. Blaine is offered smiles in his classes when he walks in for the first time. He’s offered an apology and a hand off the grass when he’s accidentally knocked over while playing soccer. He is offered a seat at lunch every day his first week by boys he doesn’t know, just them being kind to the new kid looking lost with a tray in his hands.

Also, some of them can _sing_.

Blaine watches rapt as the Warblers sing and dance in front of the school, perfectly synchronized, perfectly harmonized, smiling and confident and really, really good. His heart pounds in his chest and his foot taps as he stands by the back and stares.

Blaine’s used to being the best singer around, coming in second only to Cooper. He’s used his talents to make friends and get leads in the middle school musical three years running, but he’s never been a part of anything like _this_. He’s never been a part of anything where everyone performing looks so happy to be singing together and where they sound so incredible doing it.

He’s not sure, right this minute, if he wants to stand up and sing again in front of everyone, not knowing how people might feel about him. He’s not sure he could get on stage and belt out songs from _The Pajama Game_ for an audience that contains people who would happily beat him up when he walks to his car afterwards. He knows Dalton is different, but he’s still bruised from the inside out, and he’s not eager to be quite so exposed anymore.

And yet, he watches the Warblers, he _yearns_ for them, and not just because so many of them are undeniably handsome.

He may have learned a hard lesson about the negative side of being in the spotlight, but he still _loves_ music.

So when the soloist walks by him after the set to grab his bag, Blaine makes himself smile and offers, “Hey, that was great. I really liked the way you modulated the harmonies right before the bridge to add an extra punch to the key change.”

The boy straightens up, looks him in the eye, and says with a serious smile, “Thank you.” He extends a hand. “I’m Wes. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Blaine,” Blaine says, shaking his hand. Wes’s grip is sure and firm, like a grown man’s, and it’s comforting in a way. “Blaine Anderson. I’m new to Dalton.”

“Do you sing?” Wes asks him.

Blaine nods. “I do. I did, anyway, before I came here.”

“What about dancing?”

“I’m not as good as you guys,” Blaine says. “But I was in some musicals.” He leaves out all of the years of performing with Cooper at block parties, partly because it’s not exactly something professional and mostly because he doesn’t want to talk about his brother. One of the good parts of going to Dalton is that he isn’t going to have any teachers asking him if he’s Cooper Anderson’s brother and looking at him like they’re disappointed in his appearance.

Wes studies his face for a moment while Blaine tries not to fidget, because he doesn’t know why giving a compliment should get him so much attention, and maybe he should have waited to say anything until after his face was completely healed instead of still being colored in the shape of fists, but then Wes just smiles again and says, “We’re holding auditions next week to fill a few spots for the spring semester. You should come by.”

“Oh, I - “

Another boy comes over and slings his arm companionably around Wes’s shoulders, his face warm with a good-natured smile. “Come on, Wes, we’re all grabbing coffee before next period. You know how Thad gets if he isn’t properly caffeinated.”

“I’ll be right there,” Wes says to him, then turns back to Blaine. “I hope we’ll see you at the auditions, Blaine.”

“I don’t know - “ Blaine begins, his heart soaring in his chest and pressing right against all of the fresh bruises those boys had left behind.

“If you know that much about harmonies, you’re just the kind of person we want in the Warblers,” Wes tells him. He holds out his hand again. “We welcome everyone into the brotherhood, as long as they can sing. Your word as a Dalton man that you’ll be there?”

Blaine has no choice but to shake hands with him, and he nods wordlessly, overwhelmed by a cross between excitement and terror.

“Excellent.” And with that, Wes lets himself be led away into the knot of Warblers flowing out of the common room like a small, happy, musical army.

Blaine stands there for a moment, not quite able to draw in a full breath. He’s still not sure he wants to be out there in front of the world like that, even though he’s always loved it. He’s always wanted to shine, even if now he sees a new danger in it.

There’s more laughter down the hallway, getting further away, and Blaine’s chest seizes again, this time in longing.

Something deep in his belly goes still in fear at the thought of being in the spotlight, of the memory of it turning into a target on his back... but that - the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the friendship, the acceptance of the Warblers - _that_ he wants.

Oh, yes. That he wants, a group of guys who accept him for who he is. That he wants, never again having to be without friends who will stand behind him.

And suddenly, he realizes with a start, it’s within reach. _And_ he’d get to sing, too.

Blaine grabs his bag with an increasingly sure smile, feeling a confidence he thought was lost last week creep slowly back into his bones. He might be shaken to his core, but if there’s one thing he knows how to do it’s perform. If he tries hard enough and finds the right audition song, they’ll probably let him in.

If he wants all the Warblers have to offer, he realizes with a hopeful flutter of his heart, he can probably _have_ it.

His hands still tremble when he thinks back to that night at the dance, but maybe at Dalton he can have a lot of the things he thought this morning weren’t possible anymore. His parents were right to send him here.

After all, the problem wasn’t so much that he was in the spotlight at his old school, because no matter what he does some people aren’t going to approve of who he is, and he won’t let them turn him silent; the problem was that he was alone in it.

When he’s a Warbler, he won’t be alone anymore.

*

In Blaine’s Ethics and World Issues class at Dalton, every student is required to give a ten minute speech on a current social topic. His classmates’ speeches run the gamut from the problems around US military intervention into genocide to the idea of limiting violence in video games.

Being new to the school, Blaine is assigned one of the last slots in the semester so that he can catch up, and it takes him a long time to decide what he wants to talk about. There are plenty of complicated ethical issues in the world. They’re all important. They’re all worth his time. He just can’t decide.

He finally meets with his teacher to ask him for his help. Mr. Cleeves is grey-haired and wears an old-fashioned brown suit, but his eyes are sharp and kind.

“Mr. Anderson,” Mr. Cleeves says when Blaine finally runs out of steam talking about all of the topics he’s been thinking of covering. “The point of the assignment isn’t to solve all of the problems of the world. You just need to pick one that you think you can speak about from the heart.”

Blaine feels strongly about all of them, from deforestation to voter registration to the treatment of racing greyhounds. He could argue passionately about them all.

Mr. Cleeves must sense Blaine’s turmoil, because he says even more gently, “If you had to pick one issue to fight for for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Gay rights,” Blaine blurts out, then corrects himself, because it’s important for him to be inclusive and respectful. “LGBT rights. Marriage equality.”

“So there you are. Talk about that.” Mr. Cleeves leans back in his chair and reaches out for his coffee mug on his desk.

“Is that - “ Blaine stops himself from asking if it’s okay, because of _course_ it’s okay. It’s an important topic, and Dalton is a community that cares about tolerance. He’s not going to get harassed for talking about being gay.

He _knows_ that. He’s out and accepted by the Warblers. He isn’t lying or hiding.

He sits up straighter. He gets to _talk_ about it.

That weekend at dinner with his parents he tells them all about the research he’s doing, the statistics about other countries, poll numbers, health reports, and court decisions. He tells them about what activists are doing and how they’re banding together and pushing for their rights.

It’s so exciting, so significant, so encouraging. It feels so good to be on this path, like his heart and his mind are fully engaged on this project in a way he never feels about studying for a math test. He feels like he’s part of something, in his own small way, and it’s incredible.

His parents listen politely, his mother asking questions here and there, and then his father says from his end of the table, “Are you sure you should be spending your time on that?”

“It’s almost a third of my grade for the class,” Blaine replies, confused.

“That’s what I mean, Blaine,” his father says. “Are you sure you should be working so hard on a speech about something that’s not going to change?”

Blaine drops his hands to the table in surprise. He carefully sets down his fork on the edge of his plate. “It’s going to change, Dad,” he says. “It’s going to be a really hard fight, I know that, but there’s going to be gay marriage.”

His father takes another bite of his dinner. “Voter fraud. Now, that’s something you should be looking at.”

“Dad, there’s going to be gay marriage someday,” Blaine says again, a little more strongly.

Everything he’s read says that it’s an uphill battle, but people are standing up and fighting for LGBT rights - for _his_ rights - more loudly than ever.

They aren’t giving up, and it fills his heart to know he isn’t alone in wanting _more_ , in wanting everything. He’s got plenty of people on his side who are just like him, fighting for the exact same things he wants.

They aren’t giving up, and so he thinks neither should he.

“Blaine, I’ve lived a lot longer than you have,” his father replies. “You’re young. You’ll learn about what’s realistic and what isn’t.”

“But - “

“If you’re gay, you’re gay. Fine. That’s what’s realistic. At least we’ve got Cooper to carry on the family name. But you should work on a topic that’ll help you in your other classes, be well-rounded. We took you out of public school so you didn’t have to be labeled as ‘that gay kid’.”

Blaine puts his shaking hands into his lap. He knows his father doesn’t approve of him, not really, even if he wants him to be safe at Dalton, but this is _important_. “I _am_ a gay kid. And there’s going to be gay marriage everywhere someday.”

His father looks at him, steady and with a narrow-eyed thoughtfulness like he’s considering what to say to a child.

“I hope there is, Blainey, if that’s what you want,” Blaine’s mother says quickly, offering him a weak smile.

Blaine’s father clearly drops whatever it is he’s going to say and goes back to his dinner. But before he puts his fork into his mouth, he says, “Just don’t pin your hopes on that.”

Blaine doesn’t reply, because this is too big and too important for him to fight with his dad about, especially when he _knows_ deep into his bones how much the odds are stacked against him in the country right now.

Still, as he goes back to his dinner, he thinks to himself, almost angrily, _Even if you’re right, you will never make me stop hoping_.

*

Blaine’s first chance to be an advocate for someone other than himself comes in an unexpected and very personal way. He’d been on his way to lead the Warblers in an impromptu performance in the Senior Commons when he’d been stopped on the staircase by a request for help. It turns out the boy - Kurt, the polite but truly terrible spy from McKinley - needed far more of his help than Blaine could have guessed from first glance.

Sitting across the table from Blaine as they talk alone together, Kurt is so brittle and closed-in, so alone, so in need of support and guidance, that Blaine’s heart can’t help but hurt for him.

He remembers how it feels to be bullied for being gay. He remembers how it feels to be different. He remembers how it feels to be so incredibly misunderstood and set apart from the people he thought were friends. Dalton has let him get space from those emotions, but he hasn’t forgotten them.

Blaine isn’t in that position anymore, but he can still feel the scars deep in his heart, and so he listens, and sympathizes, and hurts for Kurt... and yet with every breath something inside Blaine wakes up a little bit more.

It’s like electricity tingling through him and making his hair stand on end, every part of him becoming energized and ready.

He’s sad to hear of Kurt’s story, but he’s also excited by it. Kurt needs help. Kurt needs help, and _Blaine_ can be the one to give it to him. Blaine can support him. Blaine can keep him from facing the world alone. Blaine can be the one to share all he’s learned.

Blaine can save him from what he went through and can help him find a different path, a better one, one where Kurt can stand tall instead of being haunted like Blaine is by not being strong enough to keep from running away.

_Oh_ , he thinks as Kurt tells his story, _I can do this. I know what to do. I can listen. Instead of being the victim, the one trying to figure things out, now I can help. I can be the strong one. I can be a leader._

_Finally._

Blaine keeps his face serious and his focus on Kurt, but inside he is thrilled. Inside, he is leaping for joy.

It all makes sense to Blaine now, in a way, all he has learned and been through. Since he came out, he’s researched and suffered and made himself better. And now he’s in a position to help someone else. Now Blaine can _be_ someone else, the confident gay role model he’s been striving to be. Now he can put all he knows into practice and make a difference.

Everything is falling into place.

He might have stumbled at the Sadie Hawkins dance, but this time he’ll get things right. He’s wiser now, and he can use his experiences to mentor Kurt to avoid the same mistakes.

“Thank you,” Kurt says at the end of their conversation as he gathers himself together - not just his belongings but the all-but-visible shields he carries around himself - and gets up to leave. His eyes are luminous with the remnants of his tears, but his posture is straight and proud. “It’s really nice to have someone who understands.”

“You’re welcome,” Blaine says, offering his hand to shake. The energy zinging through him only gets stronger with the touch of Kurt’s skin against his. “I feel the same way.”

*

“I don’t know why they only carry American _Vogue_ here,” Kurt says as he browses the fashion magazines on the racks at the bookstore before they go to meet his friend Mercedes for dinner. “I know we’re in Ohio, but it’s hardly Antarctica.”

“They’d probably be more likely to have them in Antarctica,” Blaine replies, flipping through _Marie Claire_. “I mean, it’s an international community.”

Kurt fixes him with one of his incredulous stares. “Of scientists. They wear boxy white coats every day. Do you really think any of them read _Vogue_.”

“I don’t know.” Blaine puts back the magazine and follows him to the next bay of magazines. “If I were a scientist I’d still read _Vogue_.”

Kurt’s mouth lifts in a smile, making Blaine smile back.

It’s like a reflex with Kurt; Blaine always wants to smile back. He’s so happy to have met him. Blaine didn’t just find someone to help; he found a friend. He’s never had a friend who made him feel this way, like he can just be himself, like he belongs just as he is. He really doesn’t want to screw it up.

“I can’t really imagine you being a scientist,” Kurt says, “especially one in Antarctica. You’d wither from lack of attention and backing vocals.”

“Hey,” Blaine says with a laugh, barely stung by the accusation.

“No, really.” Kurt’s long fingers drift along the tops of the magazines and then pluck one out of the display. “Who would you sing to, Blaine? The polar bears?”

“There aren’t actually polar bears in Antarctica,” Blaine tells him. “They’re in the Arctic.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt laughs. He turns to face him, holding his magazines against his chest, bright colors against his short-sleeved striped sweater. “Did you have a subscription to _National Geographic Kids_ when you were younger?”

“So what if I did?” Blaine replies, standing up a little straighter. “You read _Popular Mechanics_.”

Kurt lifts his head, but the sparkle in his eyes makes it clear to Blaine that he’s only feigning his haughty response. “They were my _father’s_.”

“You still used to read it,” Blaine says, that twinkle giving him permission to push more.

“At least I didn’t read _Seventeen_ ,” Kurt replies and spins around to the next bay as his barb hits its target straight in the chest. Somehow it still doesn’t hurt Blaine, when from anyone else it would.

Blaine trails after him. “Hey, I was ten. I was confused, and it was the only thing I could get my hands on at the school library.”

“You were confused about what constituted a fashion magazine,” Kurt corrects dryly, and he pulls out a thick issue. His whole face lights up. “Ooh, Christmas weddings.”

“Bridal magazines?” Blaine asks with a squint. “And you’re complaining about _Seventeen_?”

Kurt’s head snaps up, and this time he doesn’t look quite so happy. “They’re _wedding_ magazines; they aren’t just for brides. For one, everyone likes judging tacky dresses. But there are plenty of other things in here to get ideas from, from suits to cake toppers, and you know how I feel about weddings.”

“I know,” Blaine says more slowly, surprised by Kurt’s vehemence.

“I’ve been planning my wedding since I could talk, Blaine,” Kurt says. “Although now there are far fewer Power Rangers involved.”

Blaine nods. “I know. It’s just... there aren’t a lot of places people like us can _get_ married,” he says, lowering his voice. “Not yet.”

“The world is changing,” Kurt reminds him. “The country is.”

“Not always in good ways,” Blaine reminds him right back, since most of the laws passed about gay marriage have been _against_ it, even in places like California. The unfairness of it sits like a lump right beneath his lungs, making it hard for him to draw a full breath, and he’s glad he has Kurt to vent to about it instead of having to put on a brave face for people who aren’t on his side.

“The fight isn’t over yet,” Kurt says firmly. “I’m not giving up hope until some four-hundred-pound soprano gets up and starts yodeling. And even then I’m going to shove her off the stage and sing something else.” He looks more closely at Blaine as Blaine marvels at Kurt’s strength, at how a boy who is pushed around every single day for being himself in a way Blaine could never have faced still stands so tall and proud and sure of himself. “Don’t you _want_ to get married someday?”

Blaine sucks in air around that huge ball of feelings in his chest, all of his despair and desire around the wedding he wants to have tangled into a tangible knot inside of him, and he nods. “I do,” he says. “Of course I do.”

Kurt watches him for another moment, then grabs another magazine from the rack and hands it over to him. “Then you’d better start reading. You don’t want to leave wedding planning to the last minute.”

Blaine slowly folds his fingers around the edge of the magazine as Kurt holds his gaze. He thinks a lot about the importance of marriage equality in general, but it’s still a giddy, dizzying rush when he thinks about _his_ wedding, the same way he’s felt since he was a child. His wedding, his husband, the love of _his_ life.

Kurt seems so sure that it will happen. He believes so strongly in it. And Blaine believes in it, too. He believes in forever.

Meeting Kurt, who is gay and amazing and already his best friend, has helped remind him that forever doesn’t actually have to be that far away. Blaine could meet someone special tomorrow. He can never know what’s waiting for him around the corner, or in Kurt’s case coming down the stairs. A friend, a boyfriend, his future husband... he could meet him any day now.

And the country might let them get married. In some states they already _can_.

It’s like a summer breeze suddenly dances across his skin, warm and gentle, and nudges him to see what’s right in front of him. He looks down at the magazine and its bright, glossy promises of happily ever after and feels his breath catch in his throat.

This is real. This is _real_. For him.

Just like Kurt, Blaine isn’t going to spend his life alone. He’s going to find the right person, any day now: _his_ future husband, the one who will love him and cherish him forever, the one who is going to smile at him like he has everything he wants in life simply by being at his side.

Getting married is possible, not just as a dream but as a tangible plan for the future. An actual person. An actual wedding.

All Blaine needs now is the right man.

He looks back up at Kurt, barely able to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest. The right man. The right man. He’s going to find him soon, and then he’ll get everything he wants.

Kurt’s right. Blaine should be ready for it.

“Well, then, we’d better get planning,” he tells Kurt, and the smile Kurt flashes him is so bright Blaine can feel it all the way in his heart.


End file.
